


The Thief and the Greywaren

by SupremeLeaderRen13



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 16:14:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14674755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SupremeLeaderRen13/pseuds/SupremeLeaderRen13
Summary: In a nightmare, Ronan greets a familiar and uninvited guest.





	The Thief and the Greywaren

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! Just a disclaimer, I'm a Star Wars Girl (TM) so this is my first Raven Cycle fic. I actually started this on St. Mark's Eve for fun, and just got around to finishing it. Thanks for reading, and I hope you enjoy.  
> May we all live to see The Dreamers Trilogy published.  
> Squash one, squash two...

_Greywaren._ The voice was lush, full of crackling twigs and mossy footfalls. Whatever was speaking to him, it was getting closer.  
_Greywaren._  
Ronan Lynch tossed the cigarette he was smoking onto the ground and crushed it under his combat boot. He wasn’t in the mood for this tonight.  
“Stay the fuck away from me,” he said clearly. The key was to not be frightened. All he needed was for his mind to betray him. Opal still hadn’t recovered from the shock of the last creature he pulled from a nightmare, something Adam constantly reminded him of. A twig snapped behind him.  
“I said fuck off.”  
“Innit that just like you, Lynch. Always assuming everything is about you.” The voice made him jump. Something sank in his chest.  
“Enlighten me, Kavinsky. Were they looking for the dead Greywaren instead?” Ronan watched Joseph Kavinsky emerge from behind one of the trees, his dark hair messy as it had been in life. A joint dangled from his lips, which he pinched between his fingers before holding up his hands in mock surrender.  
“Hey, hey, hey,” he drawled. “Uncalled for, Lynch.”  
Ronan rolled his eyes. “So is your constant presence here lately.”  
“Only come where I’m called, sweetheart.” He glanced around at the grove of trees, then up at the big dark sky. There were no stars. “Worried about something?”  
He spat on the ground, irritated. “No.”  
Kavinsky fixed him with a pensive stare while taking a hit of his joint. “Yes.” Smoke leaked from the corners of his malicious smile. “Afraid Parrish will find out we keep bumping into each other here.”  
“For a dead guy, you’re not very keen on keepin’ your teeth in your mouth,” Ronan growled.  
“That’s funny!” Kavinsky gestured at Ronan with the roach, and he pissily opened his mouth so Kavinsky could put it between his lips. “To be honest though, Lynch, I’m much more worried about the state of my dick. Tragic loss for the world, you know?”  
Ronan didn’t say anything, just took another hit. If it helped him calm down, that could mean fewer monsters. Although, with Kavinsky still being here, maybe it was bringing more.  
“So, what’s the plan for tonight? You wanna rematch?”  
“I beat you last time, dick.”  
Kavinsky plucked the joint from Ronan’s mouth. “Considering we’re in your dream, I refuse to believe you actually beat me. It’s rude, man…like winning the game prize at your own birthday party.”  
Ronan snorted. “Birthday party?”  
“Don’t pretend you weren’t a rich boy like the rest of us. Big cake, smiling fake mom, pony rides for your friends.” Kavinsky did a weird jig-hop that Ronan guessed was supposed to imitate a horse. “Or maybe you Catholic kids weren’t allowed pony rides.” His eyebrows flicked up with glee. “Afraid it would jostle something right outta ya?”  
“Fuck you, Kavinsky.”  
“Careful what you dream, Greywaren.” Ronan blushed all the way to the tips of his ears, beyond pissed off that he’d walked into that one.  
“Fuck it. Where’s the cars?”  
“What cars?” Kavinsky blinked innocently at him with his big hollow eyes.  
“Do you want me to leave?”  
“Empty threat, Lynch.”  
The disembodied voice spoke again, closer this time.  
_Fur. Fur et Greywaren._  
Kavinsky smiled. “Told ya they were talking directly to you the first time.”  
“They’re calling you a thief, jackass.”  
He passed the joint back to Ronan. “Which is kind of unfair, since I can’t really steal anymore.” Ronan blew a plume of smoke and bit down on his leather wristband.  
“You were a drain on the place, K. You can’t rape the magic and expect it to like you.”  
Kavinsky caught Ronan’s wrist and inspected his bracelets. “These the ones I got for you?”  
“No.”  
“No…but you kept them. That’s touching, Lynch.” His fingers slid down Ronan’s arm.  
“Don’t,” he muttered, looking away. His missed Kavinsky’s darkening expression.  
“Cars, then. Come on.” K hauled him to his feet and led him out of the trees. If he could feel the presence that Ronan did, he ignored it. “Tada!”  
“You’re shitting me,” Ronan breathed. Two identical Corvette Stingrays sat side by side, their tops open. These were old cars, but everything was impossibly, perfectly new. He ran his hand over the hood of the closet one, watching his reflection in the black paint.  
“Pretty nice, yeah? Never did understand your obsession with American muscle, Lynch. Not until these fine pieces showed up.” Kavinsky slapped him on the back. Ronan considered both of the cars for a minute before sliding behind the wheel of the black one.  
“Sure you don’t want red? Match your bleeding heart?”  
Ronan scowled. “No, I thought I’d take this one. Makes me think of your soul.”  
“It’s sweet that you think of me, Lynch.” Kavinsky smirked and dodged the joint that Ronan chucked at him, jumping neatly into the seat of the red Corvette. “You going to start our engines?”  
Ronan reached into his pocket just as casually as he would in the real world. He needed them, and so they came—two pristine sets of keys. He tossed one set to Kavinsky, who caught it in one fist.  
“Should’ve known you’d take the easy way,” he whined. Ronan shrugged. Sure, he could have started the cars without keys, but that would have been unrealistic. He liked his things to be as accurate, as lifelike as possible. Particularly if he was going to bring something with him. Not that he’d take the car, but…habits.  
He jammed the key into the switch and turned it. The car roared to life, shuddering with a thrum that you just didn’t get in today’s vehicles, muscle or not. He smirked to himself, thinking of Kavinksy’s old purring rides. This car was much closer to the Pig than a new Mitsubishi. This was going to come down to driving skill. His opponent didn’t have a chance.  
He’d just finished that thought when Kavinsky romped the throttle and took off. Ronan cussed and wrenched the gear shift. The car shot forward, easily avoiding trees that would have ripped the sides off in reality. Speaking of reality…  
Ronan knew from experience that old cars didn’t turn this easily, but the wheel spun obligingly in his hand as he roared around a sharp curve. Anyone could race on asphalt, but dirt was another arena entirely. To his shock, Kavinsky hadn’t totaled his Stingray here. He just caught of a glimpse of the red taillights blinking out of site as the cheater rounded the next turn.  
“Fuck it,” he whispered to himself. He released the clutch and stomped on the accelerator again, not giving the car any time to lose momentum. When he tore around the second curve, he could see Kavinsky leaning on the hood of his car in the distance, waiting for him. After all that, he hadn’t even finished the race. Ronan watched him begin a slow clap as he screeched to a halt feet from where the red car had stopped.  
He kicked open the door and leaned out. Heat radiated from the side of the car. Huh. A real engine this time.  
“So you cheat and then you quit?”  
Kavinsky’s thin red lips flicked up into a smile.  
“No, Lynch. I got a head start, and then I won.” He stretched out his hand to Ronan and pulled him out of the car. “Consider it payback for last time.”  
“I won fairly last time.”  
Kavinsky chucked Ronan under the chin. “Birthday party manners, Lynch.”  
His hand lingered in the air by Ronan’s face. He swallowed and stepped away.  
“Listen, K…”  
_Greywaren._  
_Fur._  
The voice was back again, and closer than ever. Ronan realized that he couldn’t see Kavinsky’s feet, as thick white fog had rolled in. The trees looked like spectral figures glaring down at them. This dream didn’t feel good anymore.  
“No offense, Lynch,” started Kavinsky, which meant that he was about to be offended, “but your head is a really fucking creepy place to be.”  
“It’s funny that you say that only when they start asking for you.” Ronan kicked the dirt beside them, willing himself not to turn around and acknowledge whatever was waiting for him.  
“Yeah well, narcissist.” Kavinsky pointed to his chest. “Self-preservation and all that.”  
“Seriously? You are—were—literally the most self-destructive person I know.”  
“Only when I don’t get my way.” Ronan tore his attention away from the…thing behind them to through Kavinsky a sharp look.  
“I am not something you can bully your way into getting, K.”  
“Bully?” Kavinsky moved closer to him until they were nearly chest to chest. He wondered if K could hear his heartbeat in this dream. “You invited me here, Lynch.”  
“I don’t know why.” Between the disembodied voice and the incredibly human warmth of Kavinsky, Ronan was having a hard time doing any critical thinking. He had to get out of here.  
“You don’t? I do.” Kavinsky closed the gap between them and caught Ronan’s face in both of his hands. He kissed him recklessly, like he was trying to draw the life out of him. When he felt Ronan lean into him, he dropped his hands from his face and ran them up the back of his shirt. It felt like he was trying to trace his tattoo, to remember it on touch alone. It didn’t feel good, not exactly. But it wasn’t bad. This was raw and painful and felt so different from kissing…from being with…  
Adam.  
“Stop,” Ronan murmured against Kavinsky’s mouth. “K, stop!”  
He pushed K away, staggering a little as he tried to get his bearings. Kavinsky’s face darkened into something dangerous and not quite of this world.  
There was a nasty flush on K’s cheeks now. His lip wobbled. “Why do you call me here? If you don’t want me, why bother? You not get enough out of fighting with me in life?”  
Ronan couldn’t look at him. “It’s not that simple, K, and you know it,” he said quietly. “I mean…you’re dead.” He was getting angry now, frustrated with things he couldn’t change. So he did the only thing he knew; he threw that anger somewhere else. “And it was never going to be us,” he hissed.  
Something bounced off his chest and he caught Kavinsky’s stupid sunglasses, exactly like the ones he’d winnowed out for him before. The boy was lowering himself into the driver’s seat of the black Stingray.  
“Black like my soul,” he said sullenly. “I think you’re right, Lynch. I’ll take it.”  
Ronan put his hand on the window. “K…” He didn’t know what to say so he nodded. “Yeah, you should take it before the ghosts get you.” There was a terrible stillness all around them. He knew that the nightmares weren’t too far away.  
Kavinsky managed a tight smile. “Please, Lynch. I am a ghost.” The car roared to life again. “But you…might want to think about what’s haunting you.” He took off, leaving Ronan standing in the misty fog. The resounding silence was overwhelming. The predator finally leaned over his shoulder and whispered.  
_“Fur.”_  
He woke up, breathing heavily. Adam slept peacefully beside him, his dark hair spilling onto Ronan’s pillow. He’d grown it out a little bit since they’d finished high school. There was silence from the rest of the house. Opal didn’t need as much sleep as a regular person, but the quiet told him that if she was awake, she was occupying herself. Even Chainsaw had her head tucked under her wing, resting proudly in a nest of her shiny things that she collected. Everything was normal. He hadn’t hurt anyone.  
“Hey.” Adam opened a bleary eye to look at him. “Everything okay?”  
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he grunted. “Go back to sleep.” Adam nodded and his eyes slide shut, for which Ronan was extremely grateful. Because he just noticed what he was holding.  
A pair of white framed sunglasses.  
He leaned over the bed and worked his hand blindly underneath of it until he found an old shoebox. Chainsaw wasn’t the only creature here with an affinity for collections. He flipped the top open and tossed the glasses in, where they came to rest on a set of leather bracelets and an assortment of pill bottles, car keys, and miscellaneous junk. Glancing nervously at Adam, he flipped the top closed and returned it under the bed.  
“Kerah?”  
Chainsaw flapped her wings gently to land on his arm.  
Ronan stroked her feathers. “Are you going to start on me too?”  
She blinked, and her black eyes seemed to study him critically. She said his name again, a bigger question this time.  
“Kerah?”  
She flapped up to his shoulder, moving gingerly. He glanced towards the dresser Chainsaw slept on and caught sight of himself in the mirror. On the back of his shoulder, exactly where the nightmare creature had been, there was a word scratched into his skin.  
_Fur._


End file.
